Given to the Club by Emily Tilton
Chapter 14
Helena
“Oh, no,” I whimpered. “Oh… oh, no.”
I heard something that I knew could only be the sound of a man disrobing in my presence. I had never heard the distinctive sound a man’s clothing makes as it leaves his limbs; the electrostatic rustling of the fabric after the wearer has touched the fastener has a different quality from that of a woman’s gown, and my first experience of it made me cry out softly. I wanted to look, and I didn’t want to look.
I heard another, softer rustling, and I knew it must represent Gerard’s having pressed the fastener on his drawers. I had seen a man’s drawers, once, in a picture another girl at school had shown to me. Not the man himself, in the drawers; only the drawers, with the whispered explanation, through a giggle: this is what a man wears under his clothes.
It had made me feel so funny, then, I remembered—and the memory brought such heat to my face now that I could hardly believe my cheeks did not catch fire. For the funny feeling had, I understood then, only constituted the pale precursor of the aching, wanton need Gerard’s hand, still between my thighs, brought to my pussy now.
I turned my face over my shoulder, for I could not help it: I could not keep my naughtiness in check enough not to look at my guardian without his clothing on. He had it in his hand, the thing I had been made to kiss through Jacob Miniver’s trousers. He held it loosely in his palm and he pumped it gently up and down.
With a sob of shame, I turned away, my heart and body filled with emotions and sensations I could not name, but which all seemed to center in what Gerard’s other hand did between my thighs. His fingers, gentle now, moved in and out, probing just to the place where I felt that nature had imposed a barrier, as if to tell a young lady what she might and might not do. It made a sensation of pressure, each time, that brought fear into my mind—but somehow also a wayward, wicked neediness… a greed, almost, to experience what I understood now so many women had experienced… the thing that indeed had turned them into women.
“No, Helena,” my guardian said. “Look. I wish you to see the cock that will enjoy you.”
My sob became a moan, because Gerard moved his fingertips from inside the virgin sheath of my pussy to the place where he had put the governor, the center of shameful sensation that seemed so terribly precious to me now that I had undergone its deprivation. Somewhere, discarded in my guardian’s clothing, I heard the controller beep, just as I felt one of those immodest, mortifying contractions.
Gerard chuckled. “I felt that, my dear. Doctor Elias was not mistaken about you—nor was I. You are a little whore.”
I turned to look at him, as he had instructed, wishing to accuse him of cruelty and indecency with my eyes rather than to see again the thing he called his cock. I gazed into his smiling eyes, and I saw to my confusion that he had not meant to condemn me, truly, by calling me a whore. No, my guardian’s frank expression told me that though he had certainly intended to degrade me thus, he had also meant the word as a sort of praise.
“Yes, my dear,” he said softly. “You are my little whore. Look at the cock now. Have a good look at your guardian.”
He let go of the long, hard shaft, and I saw it clearly for the first time, the plum-like head and the rigid, throbbing length that jutted out from the nest of dark hair upon his loins. The thought of how he had decreed I should be smooth between my legs and even between my bottom cheeks brought new heat to my face.
His right hand soothed me there, on my shaved pussy, finding new wetness with each gentle movement into my vagina and spreading it to my clitoris, making my body jerk with each gliding motion back and forth between my private lips. He reached out with his left hand, and though I cried out like a small, frightened creature he began to fondle my little breasts, squeezing the nipples between thumb and forefinger so that I whimpered and to my embarrassment pressed back against his caressing hand.
With his hands he seemed to tame me, to train me as a man trains a steed. I kept my eyes upon his threatening, masculine hardness through it all, for I could not have moved them away even if my guardian had commanded me not to look at the immodest sight.
His left hand went further under my body. Startled, I tried to move my hands to brace myself for whatever he intended—to ward it off or to assist it, I could not tell. I felt again the cuffs upon my wrists, how they bound my hands so that I could not interfere with my guardian’s pleasure. The reminder of my submissive state sent a thrill of arousal shooting from my clit, so strong, so urgent and dismaying that I suddenly wished that he would turn down the governor.
My lips parted as Gerard took hold of me and moved me toward him, toward his cock. I wanted to cry out that to my horror I understood why the woman on the pavement, in front of the club, had thought me so foolish. I intended never to admit it to anyone, least of all my guardian, but I forgave all the Prosperian women who had submitted to the imposition of their governors with mild docility.
Across the comforter he pulled me, until my face was only an inch from where his hardness hovered, moving gently of its own accord. Fascinated, I saw the vein that ran along its length, and I understood that it throbbed with each pulse of Gerard’s heartbeat.
“Open your mouth, my dear,” my guardian said softly. “You must learn to suck the cock.”
I felt my brow crease so deeply that I had an instant’s worry it might stay that way, furrowed all my life into this helpless expression of shame and wanton arousal. My mouth and tongue formed the beginning of the word no, for I knew I could never, would never do that degrading thing. They had made me kiss Jacob Miniver’s hard member through his trousers; they had given me no choice at all. I would not put my mouth on it, though—not even for Gerard… especially not for Gerard… despite the way I could sense how much dominant pleasure it would give him… how much power that would give me, to serve as that pleasure’s instrument…
I could look only at the rigid penis in front of me, could feel only his hands: the left upon the back of my head now, guiding my mouth firmly toward the head of his cock; the right between my thighs, training me to do as I was told here in the chamber of pleasure. My guardian must have seen the n of no forming upon my lips. He took his right hand away, and with his left twined in my hair, he held my face close, so shamefully close, to his manhood.
A shudder passed through my whole body, centered in my back, my hips, and my already terribly punished bottom. The no died on my lips as if my mouth, too, acknowledged the awful ambivalence of my thoughts and feelings. I knew what Gerard would do, and I found to my horror that the part of me that wished to say no to the degrading, servile thing he had commanded had grown weak.
For I understood that he would spank me now, to remind me that he had the duty to teach me and to train me. He had the duty to whip me when he must—and had I not betrayed my whole world? Should I not be made to demonstrate that I should become, that I had become his little whore as a result of my misdeeds?
I cried out even before his right hand came down with the spank that rang like the report of an antique firearm off the blue walls of the chamber of pleasure. Then I yelped, I sobbed, and I felt the word please rise from my chest, with the knowledge that I did not mean to beg him not to do anything—that the word, if I spoke it, would rather represent the fulfillment of his humiliating prediction that I would beg my guardian to make a woman of me… to fuck me.
To fuck me in my cunt. In my mouth. In my…
My poor little bottom burned with the spank from Gerard’s hand. It had renewed all the soreness of the terrible whipping he had given me in his study. I remembered how it had felt to know the gentlemen of Drake could see the little cheeks Professor Simmons had punished, and that they could even see the tiny hole between them.
Please… sir, fuck me in my…
I didn’t know how I could even think it, when my mind could not form the sentence. I sobbed at the thought, at the feeling in my backside.
My mouth formed the p of please, and then, hardly to my joy, I won a tiny victory. Instead of begging for the most shameful thing imaginable, my lips parted instead, and I put out my tongue with a tiny whimper that hoped would signify to Gerard that I longed, desperately, to obey his commands and to have the hard staff of his masculinity in my mouth.
With a grunt of satisfaction, a primitive noise of mastery that made my pussy clench under the hand that now returned to it, Gerard drove his cock inside my mouth and immediately began to move it rapidly in and out. Overwhelmed by the sensations, astonished that the feeling of being filled that way by penis and fingers felt so good in its sheer wantonness, I cried out around my guardian’s rampant manhood and suddenly, astonishingly to my still-inexperienced mind, started to come.
The thrills of pleasure loosened my limbs, and I writhed under Gerard’s grasp. I felt the cuffs on my wrists and I struggled against their restraint. I tasted the slightly acrid, salty, humiliating taste of him where a man’s private part should not go. I wanted suddenly to do my best to please him, and I tried to soften my mouth, to widen my jaw to make myself a better place for fucking.
“Oh, good girl,” Gerard groaned. “That’s it. Come for your master, now. Get me ready for your sweet little cunny.”
Every word sent an electric dart of pleasure through my senses and provoked a new contraction of that little cunny, the untried pussy my guardian’s hand kept preparing for his possession. I cried out around the thrusting cock again and again, feeling the tension in Gerard’s hand as he—it seemed to me—tried not to thrust farther than I could bear, in an effort to teach me well how to make my mouth a good place to fuck.
Abruptly he pulled his hardness out of my mouth completely. He turned my face up to look into his eyes. The pleasure and the hunger and the sheer aggression in that dark gaze made my heart jump with fear, even as his hand, still probing my virginity, made me thrust back to get more of his fingers inside me.
“It’s time, Helena,” he said in a growl. “Kneel on the bed. Hands out in front of you and face in the comforter. Offer me this little quim.”
Gerard emphasized his degrading words with a motion of his fingers inside the still-unopened sheath of my vagina, as if I might have some doubt what he meant. I bit my lip and sobbed from deep in my chest.
Then he enforced his command with his strong hands, picking me up bodily and lifting me, turning me until he could set me down at the edge of the enormous bed, facing the ornate headboard of dark polished wood. I gasped at the terrible, sudden question that rose into my mind: How many girls have lost their virginities upon this bed?